Relearning music

Have you ever heard someone say "Music says a lot about a culture"? Or that you can learn so much about a place just by looking at its music? I used to say "Yeah, sure," and nod and smile, thinking to myself, "whatever...." But that was before I landed here. That was before I met Julius Zawose, and before I bought my first mbira, or finger piano (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mbira). Ever since, I've started to realize that there might be some importance to those words...

I got introduced to the Zawose family by an American couchsurfer, who had come to Bagamoyo for the sole reason of meeting this infamous Tanzanian family, known throughout the country for their traditional music. The most well known is Julius Zawose, one of the patriarchs of the family, who despite his limp makes up for whatever physical awkwardness with his graceful and musical fingers and voice. I only went to watch him play, but ended up getting a mbira (they call it "malimba" around here) shoved into my hand, and low and behold, the addiction started. I started coming back for my fix every week.

The thing I like best about malimba is it reminds me a little of my first instrument, the piano, but in a completely different situation. Instead of sitting in front of a giant machine, my new instrument is the size of a super thick paperback book, so I take it with me all the time, to hide on the beach and practice. It's got a really interesting sound, and the feel of it under your fingers is enticing....The most striking difference of all though, was the actual initiation into playing. When I learned piano, the structure was simple: you learned how to read notes, and then you could play songs, from start to finish. Malimba, if taught by Julius Zawose, doesn't work that way at all. The first few days he taught me the basic notes to a song, the chorus line if you will, and then for months after, it was a method of learning combinations of notes. With each combination, you could play it virtually anywhere in the song, and combine it with even more combinations of tunes to add to the base line. If you wanted to, the song could go on forever, almost circular, repeating and recycling the sounds you just learned. It sounds crazy, but it actually made sense, and the more you learn, the cooler the song sounds. I technically moved on to a second song, but Julius and I revisited and added even more to the first song.....

So what does this say about Tanzania? It says a lot about how they learn things here. People learn a lot by doing, as I did. It's not a matter of reading the instructions and following through, it's a matter of feeling, and doing and acting to learn. And when you do learn something, it can constantly change, or be changed by you or others. Nothing really begins with you, and nothing truly finishes. The more I write about this, the more I realize this could be what we call "tradition," which is universal, especially in music and dance. Not something you come across very often these days, or perhaps the practice of learning said traditions is a little less...well, traditional. All I know is, when I'm playing my malimba, I don't think about this. I can be in a trancelike state, focused completely on making the music, realizing that the possibilities are endless, and that there are no rules. Maybe that's Tanzanian after all.

Hatari!!! Wizards....

It's funny how you can start a very normal conversation with a Tanzanian friend, only to somehow end up at, "Well, you know, you have to be careful of the wizards." At first you ask them to repeat, convinced you must have heard wrong, from your relatively educated, informed friend. But no, you didn't. Actually, he meant to say spirit.....even better.

The first time this happened Fredi and I were eating dinner at the Country Club, a very nice hotel where we stayed for the first 3 weeks I was here. We of course know all of the staff really well, and they all work hard, but nobody works harder than "Freddy," a waiter at the restaurant who always looks busy, and actually usually is. We were talking to him about the beach when somehow he mentioned "Ah, but I don't go in the water." At first we thought he meant, "I don't go in the water at night," or "I haven't been in a few weeks." But actually, for once, his grammar was spot on. He doesn't go in the water. Ever. "Why?" I had to ask. "It doesn't happen very often, but sometimes, a water.....spirit (we found the word later, after plenty of explaining) can drag you into the water and drown you. I don't want to risk it!!!" As he walked away to work, he must have missed our jaws which were down slightly lower than they should have been. After all of those years of working right at the beach, he has never once ventured even a toe into the water. Amazing.

There are more stories that I could retell, but I think you get the idea. What is mystical about it all is that you meet people who are so connected to the "modern world" and have met people from around the world, and yet are so completely convinced of the demons and spirits in their backyards. This has never bothered me in the past, I mean, I know a few Icelanders who are firmly rooted in their belief in fairies and elves, which makes me want to believe. Who doesn't wish for a little magic in their life?? The only problem is when it becomes harmful to your health. Despite new knowledge in medicine, health, illness, and more, people here in Tanzania have a real huge problem letting go of their demons and spirits. I can't tell you how many of my medical friends see case after case of people arriving at the hospital, too late....only because their belief in their witch doctor was so compelling, they would rather go to him or her first, before seeing medical help. It is a cultural difference to be sure, but a very strange one. As our guide explained to us, there is a witch doctor for every family in some regions, and usually a grandfather or someone elderly who you look up to. I guess it's hard to deny help from those you trust, only to go to people you don't know. Maybe only the spirits have the answer.